


Velvet and Vanity

by peristeronic



Category: Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Attempts at Costume Porn, Badly-Researched Fic, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, F/M, Healthy Loving Kinkiness, Historical Inaccuracy, I beg of you, Please forgive me for my historical inaccuracies, Woman on Top, what do you call a pwp if it's only rated teen?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peristeronic/pseuds/peristeronic
Summary: In which Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby go to buy a dress, and it's not for Mrs. Willoughby. They enjoy being married to each other much more than anyone could have anticipated.





	Velvet and Vanity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vaingloriousactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaingloriousactor/gifts).



Whatever her husband’s faults, Mrs. John Willoughby considered his taste to be unimpeachable. When he had first courted her, the elegance of his manners and his clothes had been the only considerations in his favor. He would be a very handsome ornament escorting her into a ballroom. That, and Sophia’s desire to be free of her guardians, led her to accept him. She was well aware that her fortune was the only thing that attracted him to her. They would suit each other, she believed.

Three years into their marriage, they understood each other much better. Sophia held her head high as they walked into a ballroom together, and when they stepped into their carriage at the end of the night they smirked and let loose with every bit of venom they had been saving on the subject of _this_ fop, _that_ mooncalf, this lecherous old man capable of more desire than ability, that priggish miss, and this matron in a mobcap with a laugh like a hyena.

Willoughby now frequently accompanied Sophia to her milliner and her dressmaker, allowing her to benefit from his keen eye. On one particular occasion they made a trip to a modiste that was not Sophia’s usual; one that Willoughby had been given the name of by a hunting acquaintance known for the number of actresses he kept.

“Did you ask him if this modiste is _discreet_?” Sophia said when Willoughby told her of it. “He’ll think you’ve grown bored of me.”

John let out a chuckle. “I promise that I am not bored of you.”

~:~

Miss Fuller, the proprietor of a shop in Bond Street, was sure within a few moments of their entering that she would do well to court these new clients. They were both fashionably dressed, both with tastes that tended toward the expensive—though it seemed to the dressmaker that the husband had more opinions on the dress to be made than the wife. His eyes roved over the bolts of cloth on display covetously.

“What do you think of this pale gold?” Mrs. Willoughby said.

“I do like it,” Mr. Willoughby said, considering. “But do you think it would suit my—suit the occasion? What do you think of this?”

He drew her attention to a bolt of wine-colored silk. His hands ran back and forth over the liquid surface.

“Claret, I’d say. A fine vintage,” was Mrs. Willoughby’s reply. And so the dress was claret.

The dress was to have a full skirt, long in the back, which Miss Fuller approved of. It would require more silk than a dress with a narrower silhouette.

“Not too long a train, however,” Mrs. Willoughby said.

Mr. Willoughby looked disappointed. “But the back of the dress should fall elegantly to the floor. A longer train is more dramatic—do you not think?”

The dressmaker’s pencil hovered over her sketch.

“Yes, but there are drawbacks to consider,” Mrs. Willoughby said firmly. She won that argument after some debate.

Miss Fuller was startled when Mrs. Willoughby announced that she did not intend to have any fittings. She had very detailed measurements written down and that, she said, would be sufficient. Looking down at the paper, the dressmaker raised an eyebrow at the numbers, but she was not foolish enough to make any comment. She named a date when the dress would be delivered and the couple bid her a good afternoon.

~:~

The look on John’s face when Sophia told him the dress had arrived made her smile like a cat. He came into her bedroom that night to see the finished product. It lay spread out on Sophia’s bed on full display.

“Don’t just stand there,” Sophia teased as he seemed to hesitate. She ran her fingers down his arm. “I want to see you in it.”

He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Thank you, my love,” he murmured close to her ear.

“You’re welcome.” Her fingers started on his front buttons.

Cravat, coat, waistcoat, and trousers dropped to the floor and were replaced by a cotton chemise. On top of that Sophia tied his stays.

“It’s tempting to leave you like this,” she said, her hands on his chest. She kissed him, feeling the lines of his body underneath the sheer white cotton.

“But you want to see me in my dress as much as I do,” he said.

On went the petticoat and the dress itself. John nervously smoothed the silk down as Sophia took a few steps back to admire the full effect.

“Show off for me,” Sophia said, and John needed no further instruction. He turned to show the dress off from every angle, every movement causing the candlelight to make pools on the silk. A smile played over his mouth totally unconsciously and Sophia fell in love with that smile all over again.

“How do I look?” he asked, tilting his head. For a second he looked almost shy.

“How do you feel?” Sophia asked, striding forward. She leaned close, playing with the drawstring neckline of the dress. Her voice was low in his ear. “Because you look like a very, very pretty girl.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Very pretty.”

Something flared in the pit of her stomach. “I’m glad.” Her hands ran down to his waist as she pressed light kisses to his neck. The gasp this produced was even more gratifying.

“It’s—it’s your turn now,” John pointed out.

One last quick kiss against the hollow of his collar bone, and she hummed in anticipation. “Thank you.”

A moment later, Sophia had taken on the guise of a man in tight breeches. She made a low bow before Willoughby before taking his hand and raising his knuckles to her lips.

“Forgive me, miss, what were we speaking of?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“You were admiring my new dress, sir.”

“That’s right.” She pulled him against her. She wondered if he could feel how fast her heart was beating in her chest. “I was telling you that you’re beautiful.”

“And I have fabulous taste.”

“You do.” She kissed him. “I don’t think I have ever looked that good in a dress.”

“You look quite handsome in my breeches,” John said, kissing back.

“How well we suit.” She laughed and John took the opportunity to play with the cravat at her throat. The smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth demanded to be kissed and she ran her fingertips down his spine until he shivered.

Grabbing his hips, she forced him backwards until he almost tripped on his hem, falling backwards onto the bed.

“That is why you may not have a longer train, my love.” So saying, she climbed onto the bed, straddling him. “It would be most inconvenient for me.”

“But my dress,” he said with a whine.

“I’ll be careful.”


End file.
